


Over a Barrel

by Cortesia



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Barebacking, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Language, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cortesia/pseuds/Cortesia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whiskey is good. The sex is better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over a Barrel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mightierthanthecanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightierthanthecanon/gifts).



> This is for the Hartwin Secret Santa 2015 summer prompt:
> 
> "Harry takes Eggsy to a public whiskey tasting as part of his education. Predictably, Eggsy drinks too much (both of them, really, but that boy is clearly a lightweight) and starts hitting on Harry almost immediately. Under-the-table handjob shenanigans ensue."

"You want to take me _where_?"

"To a whiskey tasting, Eggsy, do keep up."

"I know what whiskey tastes like, Harry."

"No, you know what brown food dye mixed with cut-rate bathtub moonshine tastes like. The kind of whiskey you'll be drinking after this should be distinctive, fine, and for pleasure rather than for the expediency of getting drunk. Fine whiskey is savored for it's complexity, not it's potency."

"Why the fuck do I need to know this?"

"Because I said so, Eggsy. Please. _For me_."

"...Fine. But you're paying."

"It would be my pleasure."

And that was how Harry came to regret precisely nothing that happened during the following three days.

**  
**  


***

Harry had determined early on in Eggsy's training that the extent of his protege's epicurean knowledge extended to Kraft meals and whatever he could afford from the local pub or Tesco. Even their finest offerings weren't exactly what Harry would consider of an appropriate caliber, so once he was healed from the damage to his temple and eye, he set about making sure that Eggsy was able to use his Kingsman-granted etiquette to appreciate things. Finer things. The positively pornographic noises the younger man made when Harry cooked for him had nothing to do with it, he was quite sure.

(Though they made for excellent source material once Eggsy had gone home for the night.)

What had begun as a casual dinner once or twice a month had turned into several shared dinners a week, with Harry cooking (or more recently teaching Eggsy to cook). Eggsy, while not particularly proficient in the kitchen yet, had excellent knife handling skills and given the chance, had quite an extraordinary palate once weaned off of enriched white flour and processed cheese food.

So the dinners had transformed into part lesson, part domestic scene, and Harry was personally thrilled by the development. He'd lusted after the boy from the first cocky word; he'd loved the boy since he woke up to a bleary-eyed and sleepy grin, the warm weight of an arm thrown across his abdomen and a body curled into his in the days following V-Day. Eggsy hadn't left his side once the Americans had shipped Harry back, medically comatose but still breathing on his own. At one point, Merlin had threatened the lad with expulsion from HQ since he wasn't technically a Kingsman if he didn't get some rest, but the combined onslaught of Eggsy's tear-filled and wildly exhausted eyes and Roxy's withering chill (both in and out of their newly joined bedroom) quickly turned the dour man's opinion. Whatever it was that seemed to be slowly building between them was exactly what Harry wanted, with a few small caveats. Minor annoyances, really. And really, it was just the one issue.

The issue, of course, being that Harry wanted to strip Eggsy's horrid jacket and trackies off of his lithe and pert young body with his teeth, and follow each inch of newly-exposed skin with nips and licks unending. Wanted to shove himself so far inside the saucy little bastard's arse that Eggsy would taste his seed in the back of his throat when Harry was done rutting into him like a beast.

"Minor" might be underplaying it a bit.

So Harry searched for any and all activity he could feasibly pass off as a "training exercise" within the idea of furthering Eggsy's gentlemanly knowledge in order to spend as much time with the younger man as possible. So far, they'd taken a couples cooking class series (which embarrassed Eggsy until the third lesson when they witnessed a proposal and a breakup in the space of ten minutes), multiple rounds of golf (which Eggsy hated), several rounds of paintballing (which Eggsy loved despite Harry's insistence that it was hardly a sporting gentleman's game), and on one memorable occasion near Halloween, an "Escape the Room" adventure featuring actors dressed as zombies and a very visceral fear that Harry never knew he had rising in his chest as the clock wound down. It took all of his not inconsiderable discipline to keep himself from attacking the others in the room or picking the locks.

(Eggsy won that one, and promised that if Harry had actually gotten bitten, he'd have amputated the affected limb before Harry could turn. It didn't make Harry feel any less frightened, but it did widen the cracks hiding his unending love for the boy.)

Still, Eggsy made no indication other than the occasional sun-like smile that he felt anything for Harry beyond the friendly bond of mentor and protege, or worse, father and son. He'd stumbled half-drunk to Merlin's apartment one night, bemoaning the fact that the younger man seemed indifferent to Harry's desire, and sought his oldest friend out for advice. Merlin swore to all the Old Gods and the New that Eggsy was harboring a deep and fiercely burning passion for Kingsman's king, but Harry could scarce believe it. Even Roxy, who had answered Merlin's apartment door clad in a men's wool sweater, her Kingsman glasses, and any number of unmentionable body fluids, agreed from her perch on the arm of Merlin's sofa, her slender legs crossed in such a way that Harry could count the individual love-bites bitten into her thighs.

"He's completely daft for you, Arthur. Won't shut up about you when he thinks no one is watching or listening. I'm sure we could find some of the recordings from your... infirmity that would answer this for you once and for all."

Harry, with all the grace and poise and maturity that half a century of life granted him, proceeded to drink half of Merlin's liquor cabinet and fall asleep with his head pillowed against the Scotsman's boxer-clad leg rather than face the situation with any sort of levelheadedness. While the hangover the next day wasn't nearly worth it, he did add a bit of the private show Merlin and Roxy had unknowingly given him while they thought he was completely asleep to his mental "for later" file. Such acrobatic loveliness wasn't to be wasted, after all.

Then he found the whiskey-tasting event.

Owned by one of the older patronage families of Kingsman, the Bee and Bullet Distillery was run by a rather eccentric duo who had abruptly moved from London to pursue a life in the country after some unpleasantness involving an embittered newspaper magnate and an assassin-bride with a faux pregnancy. They, along with their employees, created some of the finest modern whiskeys, and though their whiskeys weren't nearly as aged as many more mature specimens, they were shaping up to become a frontrunner in the next few decades if their young brews were anything to go by. They also produced meads, jams, honeys, and all sorts of still-room goods that sold for exorbitant prices through a regular private sale on some hideously-crafted personal blog. Kingsman always had access thanks to their connection to the patronage family, as well as for several under-the-table deals Merlin and Eggsy had made once they had gotten their hands on the first jar of orange marmalade gifted to them by the owners as a thank-you for dealing with some unsavory Irish gentleman that seemed to be bothering them.

The Bee and Bullet Distillery was hosting a whiskey tasting, with flights of both their own young offerings and an extensively and meticulously refined selection from across the UK, America, and Asia. Tickets were incredibly difficult to come by, but Harry wasn't Arthur for nothing. A small trip to London to one of the most awful private clubs he'd ever had the misfortune of entering had secured him with both valuable intelligence for several ongoing missions, but a set of tickets and another jar of delicious marmalade. That, at least, was worth the stress of meeting in a non-speaking club with a man who controlled the better portion of Her Majesty's empire, as good marmalade was wont to do.

And of course, when Harry pulled up outside Eggsy's new home (which had been his old home) in a gleaming black convertible, hair carefully tousled to maximize curliness and fluffiness in a way Eggsy had never seen before, the older man had to hide his smirk. Eggsy's jaw had dropped, first at the car, second at Harry, who wore the most casual clothing he owned apart from some unfortunate rock band t-shirts he kept hidden at the back of his closet from his younger days. Eggsy's shuddering gasp at the sight of his curls was like a symphony performed just for him.

"Fucking hell, Harry. Why didn't you never tell me you had curls?!"

"Never came up, dear boy. Now gather your things, the boot's big enough to hold our bags."

Eggsy snapped to it at Harry's voice. Harry had hidden his delighted eyes behind a pair of Wayfairers he'd had Merlin craft for him, and the look of sheer want that had passed Eggsy face when Harry and the car had arrived hadn't gone unnoticed. Maybe Merlin and Roxy were right....

"Can I drive?" Eggsy asked, a note of childlike glee in his voice. He'd seen the boy drive before; it was as untamed and joyful as Eggsy himself.

"Certainly."

"Yes Harry!"

Harry smiled fondly as he tossed the keys to Eggsy. If only he could hear that breathy variant of his name more often, he'd be a far happier man. As it was, Eggsy drove the car respectfully, if not a little more like Top Gear than Harry had anticipated. Eggsy was a natural at sliding the car in and out of curves, punching the throttle and braking smoothly to make it seem as though they were gliding on air, all sinuous and twining through London's rainy streets. Harry mused that if Eggsy was half as talented in bed as he was behind the wheel of a car, then whomever the boy chose for his lover would be one lucky son of a bitch, indeed.

The streets of London gave way to the countryside soon enough. They stopped to luncheon at a local cafe, their simple sandwiches enough to fuel the remainder of their journey. All too soon, Eggsy turned on the navigation on his Kingsman smart phone and guided them down several twisting lanes. The last was beset on both sides with willows, leading to a small estate. Harry would have called it a cottage at best, but the look on Eggsy's face let him know that the younger man was awed by the manse in front of them the same way he'd been awed by Kingsman HQ once. Harry never quite remembered that Eggsy hadn't seen these things his whole life given how beautifully he responded to Harry's tender tuition, but the look on Eggsy's face when presented with another facet of higher life was one that Harry cherished the way parents did their children's expressions at Christmastime.

They weren't the only ones arriving and an attendant directed them to a car park that had once been a stately side garden. The gravel and cobblestone still outlined the various places shrubs and topiaries once grew, different colors to match the swirling symmetry. Eggsy unlocked the boot and Harry handed him their bags. More than once he'd cheekily claimed that his vintage back couldn't handle the strain of carrying the grocery bags for dinner or the luggage on missions, and Eggsy would always respond with a roll of his jade eyes and a besotted half smirk before grabbing whatever Harry didn't deign to carry, a smart "yes sir" rolling off his tongue and down Harry's spine to pool in his groin.

It was a good working relationship after all.

The attendant that directed them to the car park met them at the front of the house and took their bags, tagging them with what looked like toe tags if Harry wasn't mistaken. Though, given the eccentricity of the distillery's owners, it wasn't terribly far fetched to think they'd use whatever they might have had on hand. Harry and Eggsy entered the home. It had previously been someone's residence, that much was evident from the architecture. But currently it had been renovated in a tasteful manner, emulating the style of the period while allowing for a more functional business. Harry curved to the left, meeting at some sort of front desk that had been installed. A genial older woman sat there, watching reruns of daytime shows on a small boxy telly. Harry shot her a charming smile and she flustered, standing up and greeting the two in a homey, though incredibly awkward manner. Eggsy smiled

"Oh hello dears! Welcome to the Bee and Bullet. Awful name if you ask me, but they never do. How may I help you tonight? Here for the event, yes?" she asked, nodding as if to prompt them to agree regardless of any other true reasoning.

"Quite. Harry Hart and Gary Unwin, reporting in, madam," harry said with a flourish, catching her hand and kissing it while throwing Eggsy a wink. She blushed and took Harry's credentials. After writing something in a log book that looked suspiciously like a police inspector's notepad, she looked up at the two men.

"We've a bit of a problem, loves. Apparently Himself took it upon... well himself, to put his police friend in the room with the two single beds. You've been given what used to be the master, so there's just the one bed. Not a problem, here though. We get all sorts." the women looked genuinely rueful as she told them of the change, and though Harry and Eggsy hadn't counted on sharing, it wouldn't have been the first time a Kingsman had bunked down with another for efficiency's sake. And given that they'd received the tickets for free, there was little complaining they could truly do.

"It is of no bother or consequence, madam. I'm sure we'll get along just fine in the master," Harry said, brushing aside any argument Eggsy or the front desk woman might have made with a warm smile.

Handing them their room key and a packet of literature about the long weekend ahead, she showed them upstairs to settle in before dinner.

Eggsy went in first, taking in the large four poster bed and decadent linens across it. Everything about the room screamed luxury, and old money luxury at that. Harry followed, watching Eggsy case the room like a trained agent would, his eyes only briefly stopping on the large bed that they'd be sharing. It was something he looked forward to, if he were being honest with himself. Eggsy was a space heater at the best of times, and the few occasions when he and the boy had shared body heat were some of the most relaxing in Harry's memory. With luck (and a few drinks perhaps) he'd get the chance to find out if Eggsy was actually as cuddly as Roxy seemed to think he was. Their baggage had been delivered already, but Harry took the time to unpack and hang his suits, Eggsy falling face first into the plush mattress.

"Eggsy. Hang your suits or they'll wrinkle. And despite the warm welcome, I doubt they have in-house dry cleaning. Or a dry cleaner capable of cleaning bulletproof fabric."

"Harry, no. We's in the country. Nobody is gonna be looking at us cross eyed. I only brought one suit and that's because Merlin all but threatened to send me to darkest Peru with naught but a pencil and a bubble wand."

God, but did Eggsy make it too easy for Harry sometimes. He'd feel badly about it, honestly, but it was just too tempting.

"Eggsy. For me, dear boy? For me."

The quirked smile, the warmth infused tone, the words themselves. They all served a manipulative and noble purpose for Harry: Eggsy was incredibly pliant to gentle words and praise. Specifically, praise from Harry. Merlin enjoyed the boy's response to a lesser extent, but like a small gosling, Eggsy had imprinted somehow on Harry, demanding the man's attention and reaping the praise given to him like an ecstatic. Harry, never one to overlook an opportunity, used this power for good, albeit slightly selfish reasons. Seeing the minute shudder of adoring compliance wring itself down Eggsy's back even as he said it was as potent an aphrodisiac for Harry as any concoction from a lab could ever be. More so, if Harry were to be asked.

The phrase "for me" had worked its way into Harry's daily lexicon; an arched eyebrow or a specific tilt to his head emphasizing the seriousness of playfulness of the question. And Eggsy always did oh so well at following through. Harry would give the lad a hand on the shoulder, fingers just skimming his shirt's neckline and a warm puff of air against his ear as he'd say, "thank you, Eggsy" or "well done Eggsy." In return Harry would feel the tension slip from Eggsy's shoulders in rivulets of stress falling away like rainwater down a spout. He could see the boy practically go limp during the precious few moments he had a hand on him, and they were precious indeed to Harry.

Harry watched as Eggsy did as requested, hanging the suit Harry had made for him before V-Day in the wardrobe alongside several that the older man had brought himself. They looked right together, Harry thought, watching Eggsy begin to unpack his accessories to store on the sideboard. Their cuff links mingled in the small dish, and Harry watched Eggsy smile and try to separate them out absentmindedly.

"Come along, Eggsy. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. The first tasting is always the best, and it's being served downstairs after dinner."

"Dinner formal or what?"

"Not tonight. Tomorrow's is, but tonight is casual. What you're wearing is fine." Eggsy was wearing a pair of jeans that he must have been poured into, and a polo shirt with the buttons undone, exposing the fine collarbone beneath. Harry's eyes were drawn to the V of his creamy skin, and only snapped his eyes back up to Eggsy's mirthful green ones when he heard his name being called multiple times.

"Alright Harry?"

What he wanted to say was, "yes, simply considering where best to mark you with my teeth."

What he said was, "Quite. Shall we head down? I'm rather in need of a stiff drink."

Eggsy's confused face wasn't particularly what Harry had been looking forward to seeing, but he was sure he could make the boy smile once again over the course of the weekend. He cursed his rather uninspired delivery and held the door open, gesturing to the hall.

"After you."

The dinner was tasty, yet simple. The owners gave a disjointed speech in which the smaller of the two kept interrupting to clarify points the taller was making, degenerating into what Harry and Eggsy were assured were practiced and long-standing arguments that rarely led anywhere. Once their meal was finished, they were taken to the tasting room.

Twenty-five or so guests milled about the tasting room, which had previously been a receiving room of some kind. It was classically designed, and the pub-height tables were built in accordance with the traditional style, despite their modern flair. They'd been reminded along the way of various tidbits about the property and distillery, and were informed that the barrels were kept in what had previously been the stables. Now it was a climate-controlled storage area with exacting requirements. As they wandered, the guests were given small tastes here and there of various Bee and Bullet spirits, and by the time each was settled in his or her seat, they had been fairly well lubricated.

Eggsy and Harry were seated at a table for two, a low-slung bench behind what Harry explained had been a whist table in another life. Seated side by side, they greatly welcomed their first flight of lovely young whiskeys. The older, more robust vintages were to be served later, acting as the "finale" for the evening's rounds.

**  
**  


"So how exactly does getting drunk on nice whiskey make me a gentleman, again?"

"You're not actually supposed to get drunk, Eggsy. You sip, savor, and spit." Harry pointed out a small discreet spitoon stationed under their table for just that reason.

"That's rank, Harry. M'not wasting perfectly good booze because of some bullshit rule."

Eggsy's expression turned mischievous.

"Sides. I ain't ever spit before. Not gonna start now."

Harry didn't quite do a spit take, but it was a near thing. He leveled a sanguine eye on Eggsy's smirking face and arched an eyebrow.

"Then I suggest you get swallowing. I've got quite a bit more to give you as the night goes on."

Eggsy's ears went red, though he tipped his glass towards Harry's with a wink.

"We'll see, bruv. We'll see."

The night went on, the evening sky's redness turning to navy-dark. The house was lit by electric faux candles, lending a warm and orange light to everything. Other people milled about, and the atmosphere was one of levity and joy. Harry and Eggsy had finished five flights between them, and both were feeling the affects rather spectacularly. Eggsy was an unabashed lightweight for any and all types of alcohol, given the circumstances of his upbringing. Harry and the other Kingsmen took great pleasure in introducing him to the most potent and exotic alcohols they could smuggle back to the UK, much to his liver's dismay. Harry, though once capable of drinking far more than a human being should, had cut back his intake severely following V-Day. He liked to be in control of his faculties, only choosing to drink when he was around people with whom he felt entirely safe. Merlin and Eggsy topped that list, though Percival, Bors, and Roxy were among those he would consider as well. As such, Harry was in little better shape than Eggsy.

But age lent experience and wisdom, so Harry was able to remember quite clearly that Eggsy got... handsy when he drank. It was common knowledge among the knights that their Galahad got incredibly affectionate when drinking; what was unknown to all save for Lancelot was that he also got incredibly inclined to grope and molest those around him that he found attractive.

And though the man himself hadn't realized it, Harry was at the top of that list.

Harry only began to notice something was "off" when Eggsy's warm body, already pressed against Harry's side, began to shift mildly, as if he were trying to get comfortable. He'd been talking at length about some sort of explosion-laden mission from several years prior, and Eggsy was leaned against him, hanging on every word. He could feel the boys warm breath against his throat as he spoke, the soft laughs and gasps of shock as the story he told affected the drunken lad. Slowly, however, Harry realized that the motion didn't stop, and that the rhythmic cadence of the slowly undulating boy could only be from one thing.

"Eggsy," Harry all but whispered. "Eggsy!"

"Mmmyeah?" came the throaty reply.

"Are you- are you touching yourself?" Harry hissed under his breath, attempting not to draw attention to themselves.

"Yup," Eggsy said, popping the P at the end, and gasping a bit louder as his hips jerked against Harry's thigh deliciously.

"Christ Eggsy! Why?!"

Eggsy's response was to lick Harry's neck, nibbling at the junction of jaw and slender throat and nuzzling the greying five o' clock shadow there. Harry inhaled sharply, and turned his head to face the boy. Eggsy's eyes were red, and his face was flushed with a fetching glow, all lust and drink and something distinctly Eggsy. Harry groaned a bit, and Eggsy seemed to take that as permission to capture his mouth in a whiskeyed kiss. It tasted of oak and Eggsy,band it was a flavor Harry would never forget. Eggsy's tongue lapped at Harry's lips and Harry obliged, their kisses becoming fevered. Eggsy all but climbed into Harry's lap, though the older man was still aware of their public location. Even the thinning crowd would be enough to hinder much more than just necking like teens at the cinema. However it seemed Eggsy didn't mind.

Harry's hand was unceremoniously brought beneath the table and directly on to Eggsy's steely cock. It was velvet and at once, and covered in heated slick. Eggsy rocked his hips up against Harry's calloused palm and Harry got the message. He pulled back from Eggsy's mouth and settled his other hand on his drink. While Harry looked completely composed to the other patrons, under the table he was reducing Eggsy to single sounds. He'd thrown his head back against the wall, and in the shadowed corner it looked like he'd simply fallen asleep after indulging in too much whiskey. His jerking hips told another story.

Harry worked Eggsy roughly at first, stroking and twisting around the blunt head of Eggsy's cock. He gathered the pre come that leaked out in spades and used it to glide his hand up and down the heated shaft. He brought Eggsy to twitching hardness then backed off, earning a dim whine from the boy. Harry smirked and bent his head to Eggsy's ear.

"Be a good boy and don't come yet."

Eggsy's sharp inhale told Harry that he was waiting, his body trembling with need and anticipation.

"For me, Eggsy."

A roiling shudder, like a tightly wound wife uncoiling, traveled through Eggsy's body as he nodded minutely and bit his lip.

"I won't Harry. But please! Please don't make me wait too long!" His boy's rough whisper was a song.

"I won't, lovely boy. I'll give you what you need."

Harry could scare everyone believe his luck. And though a part of him was screaming at his brain to stop and ask what was happening, the lizard part of his bran was crowing in lusty victory. He opted to ignore the rational part and stroke his hand down the boy's tightly drawn sack. Harry stroked and fondled each heavy side in his hand, wishing he could lave the soft skin with his tongue.

"When we return to London I'm going to take you to my bed and lick every inch of your body, twice. And you'll hold so still I'll be able to do whatever I want with you, won't you my sweet boy?"

"Fuck. Yes Harry!”

“Shh, darling. Too much noise and this stops.” Harry punctuated his message by dipping his fingers below Eggsy’s sack and pressing against the underside. However, his ministrations on Eggsy’s cock stopped when his knuckle brushed something warm and foreign between his boy’s cheeks.

“Eggsy.”

“Harry.” Eggsy sounded wrecked.

“What’s this? Were you planning on something naughty happening?” Harry tugged the plug that was nestled firmly inside Eggsy’s hole and the young man writing beneath his hand all but wept at the sensation.

“Were you? Were you going to be a filthy boy and climb into my bed and onto my prick without so much as a by-your-leave?”

Eggsy only nodded, his lips bitten red and shiny.

“Up you get, Eggsy. Come with me.”

Harry all but dragged Eggsy out of the tasting hall, not even bothering to button Eggsy’s jeans or hide his own obvious arousal. He blindly walked through doors until the cool air of the stable-turned-storage room was all around them. He thrust the young man to his knees and over the nearest whiskey barrel.

“This is as much for your naughtiness now, darling, as it is for keeping me from having you months ago.”

With no further warning, Harry stripped the boy’s jeans to his knees, unbuttoned himself, and removed the cheeky plug deftly. Eggsy cried out, but his shock turned to a lusty groan as Harry pushed his own weeping cock into the boy’s gaping hole. They both cried out as Harry bottomed out inside Eggsy, and stayed perfectly still for just a moment, savoring the feeling of tightness and heat.

Then Harry began rocking. The motion of his thrusts sent the barrel Eggsy was draped over rocking back and forth. The whiskey inside sloshed against the sides and the kinetic energy kept Eggsy in constant motion. He was dizzy with lust and each thrust inside his body drove over his prostate with expert ease.

Their coupling was frantic, Harry’s knees creaking and Eggsy’s cock rubbing his own slickness into the side of the oak barrel. Eggsy had lubricated the plug that morning, but it had begun to dissipate, so Harry’s cock was just this side of rough, catching around his swollen rim every few thrusts. The pleasure was unlike anything Eggsy had felt before, and the somewhat sober part of his mind that still remained was congratulating itself on a job well done for remembering to open himself up earlier. Harry snapped his hips into Eggsy’s arse, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his lovely white hips.

“Mine. Mine now, Eggsy. All mine, darling boy. Never letting go of you now. Love you too much.” Harry’s cracking voice muttered this like a mantra, each word breaking as he thrust mindlessly into the body beneath his own. Eggsy’s only response was to wail with drunken joy with each stroke. He felt his own release coming upon him and lifted his head from where it had been resting in a drool-covered portion of the rocking barrel.

“Harry! Harry m’close! Please let me come, Harry, please! I’ve been so good!”

“Of course you have, dear heart. You’ll come on my cock, won’t you? Untouched?” Harry’s own climax was almost upon him, and he was determined to share the clenching explosion with his lover.

“Harry please!” Eggsy sounded beyond wrecked, and he was almost weeping with the effort not to touch himself. Harry bent down and his hot breath shivered across Eggsy’s ear.

“For me, beloved. For me.”

That’s all it took. Eggsy painted the side of the barrel white, keening in a way he’d never admit to later on, and clenching tightly around Harry’s still-invading prick. Harry snapped his hips half a dozen more times into the boy’s abused hole and filled him deeply, groaning with the effort. They stayed suspended over the barrel for half a breath before collapsing to the cold cement floor. Together, they lay cooling, their spent cocks soft against their bodies.

“Harry,” Eggsy finally said.

“Yes, love?”

“D’you think they’d let us take the barrel home?”

“I’ll make sure they do, darling. I make sure they do.”

Eggsy snuggled into Harry’s side and sighed contentedly. Harry just smiled and stroked the sweaty hair of his young lover slowly. He’d have to give Merlin and Roxy extra cookies the next time he saw them. This was the best idea he’d come up with in a very, very long time.


End file.
